I Wanna Do Bad Things With You
by LaVioleBlanche
Summary: Ivan Vanko has been in prison before. He can handle anything these Amerikanskis can dish out. But being interrogated, ogled, and eventually rescued by his arch-enemy, Tony Stark? ...That's a new one. Prologue to Destroy Everything You Touch. M/M


Okay, I don't know how, but I completely forgot that Ivan was _handcuffed_, _practically naked,_ and _alone_ with Tony during his interrogation in the film. I do not know what part of my brain malfunctioned when I saw that, but the data was not saved. So when I went to Youtube to find a few clips of the movie, I stumbled upon that scene and almost passed out. I MEAN, COME ON, PEOPLE. TONY IS BASICALLY EYE-FUCKING HIM THROUGHOUT THAT ENTIRE SCENE. So, uhh, that's where the inspiration for this came from.

~::~

"You come from a family of thieves and butchers, and like all guilty men, you try to rewrite your history, to forget all the lives the Stark family has destroyed."

Tony Stark resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"Speaking of thieves, where'd you get this design? You look like you have friends in low places." Actually, looking at him, he looks like he hasn't had 'friends' since he got big enough to knock someone out, which was probably about the time he learned to walk. The guy's a tank. True, he looks like he's a few meals short of healthy and the cops have clearly been introducing him to their new nightsticks, but Tony gets the feeling that Vanko could easily part the guards from said weapons without breaking a sweat. Tony has always been appreciative of a decent body, male or female, and what with the general lack of companionship he's been going through, along with the added fact that the Russian is practically naked, he's feeling a little distracted.

"My father, Anton Vanko." The prisoner says, oblivious to the way his rival's eyes are making their way from tattoo to tattoo.

"Never heard of him," Stark says, tearing his attention away and folding his arms casually.

"My father is the reason you're alive."

The billionaire shakes his head. "No, the reason I'm alive is because you made a shot, and you missed."

Vanko laughs, sits up a little. "If you could make God bleed, people would cease to believe in him; there will be blood in the water, the sharks will come. All I have to do is sit back and watch as the world consumes you."

Dammit, he's a sucker for an accent, too. He keeps up the banter, hiding his intentions like the pro he is. "Where will you be watching the world consume me from? Oh, that's right, a prison cell. I'll send you a bar of soap." The superhero smirks, feeling victorious, and turns to leave, but Ivan has a last jab to throw out there.

"Hey, Stark! Palladium in chest, painful way to die." He grins, knowing the _Amerikanski_ has no snappy comeback for that one.

Tony misses a step, pauses, but continues toward the door. "Yeah," he says over his shoulder. "That's gonna suck. We should take a bet, see which one of us kicks off first."

"Shame." Ivan watches Stark's back. "_Я мог вылечить Вас_."

"What?" Iron Man halts fully, his brain translating automatically- _I could cure you_. "What did you say? Cure what?"

The Russian shrugs, looking slightly surprised that the spoiled playboy actually understood that. He raises one arm, taps his chest with two fingers. "Palladium."

Tony frowns. "Bullshit."

Vanko raises one eyebrow, saying 'maybe, maybe not' without actually talking.

Annoyed, slightly worried, and, though he won't admit it aloud, frustrated in areas lower than his brain, the American turns and heads for the door once more. "I'll cure myself, thanks."

"_Я знаю, что Вы будете_." (I know you will.)

_Kind of a weird thing for a villain to say_, Tony thinks, glancing back at the incarcerated man one last time. Whiplash raises one hand, dragging its cuffed partner with it, and gives his visitor a lazy salute as the door slams shut.

"_до свидания_." (Goodbye/see you later)

~::~

Tony dismisses his chauffeur in the prison's garage and slides into the front seat of his Tesla Roadster, leaving the driver to call a cab. He needs to drive, needs to clear his head.

Later, looking back, he could never say exactly what made him pull into the parking lot of the convenience store and climb out. It's not like he couldn't get someone to do his grocery shopping for him, make arrangements and accomodations. Maybe he was slightly embarrassed. Maybe it was just too spur-of-the-moment. Maybe he didn't trust his minions to get it right, or he just felt like it was something he had to do himself. He went in, grabbed one of those bargain packs of boxers, a toothbrush, and, remembering that glasses were one of the few items the cops had found in Vanko's pockets, a pair of cheap reading specs. Moments later he was back in the car, slinging the bag of supplies over his shoulder into the backseat as he called the head of the prison.

~...~

Three hours and lots of bargaining later, a military convoy escourts an armoured prison truck up the driveway to the Stark mansion. The man driving the truck jumps out and addresses Tony, who is watching the entourage with an expression somewhere between amusement and 'oh-god-what-am-I-about-to-do'.

"Mr. Stark," the guard salutes, gestures at the vehicle. "He's in there. We had to sedate him."

"What for?"

The guy shifts, looks a little confused by the question. "He was resistant."

"Right." Tony takes a slurp of the coffee he's got clutched in his right hand. _Probably better for everyone involved if he's not awake for a bit. At least until he's safely in the house_.

Two armed guards unlock the truck and swing the doors open. Vanko is strapped to an upright wheeled cart, arms bound by a straightjacket, his head lolling to the side as the guards haul him down onto the ground.

"Well, you boys sure took every precaution," Stark says. "All he needs is that mask with the bars in front of his mouth and a nice Chianti."

That gets him a few laughs, along with a few panicked glances, like they're really thinking that they should go find said mask. Tony sighs and waves a hand. "Wheel him into the front entrance; I'll take him from there." He almost laughs; he sounds more like he's chatting to a moving crew about a sofa than discussing the transfer of a dangerously brilliant convict.

The two by the cart obey, under the wary gazes of their fellows, and the driver takes a step forward, clearing his throat.

"You sure this is a good idea, Mr. Stark? Don't get me wrong, I think it's real noble and all that, paying his bail and keeping him from the public, and I gotta agree that the facility you say you set up sounds a lot more secure than any prison, but, I mean... he's wicked dangerous."

"Wicked," the billionaire agrees, watching the unconscious Russian disappear into the doorway. "Don't worry, fellas; like I told your boss, I've got a cell all set up. Thanks for your help. And thank your warden again for his discretion."

"Sure thing, Mr. Stark." They all salute, shoulder their weapons, looking very relieved to be rid of the supervillain, and climb back into their vehicles.

Tony turns and steels himself before entering his home and shutting the door. He grabs the handles of the cart and wheels it into the room he's prepared, down the hallway and to the right.

Jarvis blinks to life and asks coolly, "Are you sure it is such a good idea to place him in your room? It seems questionable."

"Yeah, well, the guest room doesn't have the security measures mine does." He turns the corner and watches Vanko twitch as they go over a bump.

"Nor does it have as large a bed," Jarvis notes.

"Oh, really? Didn't even cross my mind," Tony lies. It strikes him as sad that he is trying to lie to his own house, but he rolls his eyes and continues despite Jarvis's added comments.

"You should know, sir; you changed the sheets. By hand. Which is something I have never seen you do."

"So?" He leans the cart against a wall and opens the door to his bedroom.

"Nothing, sir. Merely an observation."

"Remind me to turn down your 'Snarky Sarcasm' setting later." Tony hauls his new acquisition into the room and hesitates. "Jarvis, what d'you think- leave him strapped up or take him down?"

"You're going to ignore my advice no matter what I say."

"Good point. Down it is." He walks around to the back and begins undoing the heavy straps.

"If I may, sir, perhaps you should at least hold off on removing the straightjacket. You don't know what mindset your new... guest... will be in when he wakes."

"Yeah, that sounds like a plan." He tugs the final strap free and Vanko falls forward, unresistant. Fortunately, Tony had the foresight to place the cart facing the bed, so the prisoner simply lands on the mattress, arms still pinned. Stark watches him for a moment, making sure he's still out, and turns to leave.

Suddenly there's a pair of very large, very strong arms around his neck, grabbing him from behind as a very much awake Ivan Vanko jumps up and seizes his captor. Clearly, the billionaire thinks, the sedative has worn off. He wonders, as he attempts to remove the iron bars that are Vanko's bound arms, just how much the ex-con heard before he 'woke up'.

"Hghk," Tony says intelligently, and Jarvis activates one of the room's many security measures: a robotic arm, complete with a stun gun and several blades, emerges from one wall and aims itself at the Russian's head.

"Mr. Vanko, I must inform you that if you do not release Mr. Stark within five seconds, I will be forced to subdue you."

Ivan glowers at the ceiling, like he can glare a disembodied voice to death, and eases his death grip on the American's throat. Tony wheezes, slips free, and backs out the door quickly. Jarvis sets an electric field in the doorway just in case.

"Well," Iron Man says when he's caught his breath, "That wasn't a very nice way to greet the person who busted you outta prison."

Vanko's eyes narrow in mistrust. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't like being strangled; what do you think I- oh. I paid your bail. You've been 'remanded to my custody', which is fancy court talk for 'you stay in this house or you go back to jail'." Tony leans casually against the doorframe.

"Why? You want a chance to kill me, all you do is ask warden to look the other way." The Russian gives an experimental tug at his restraints.

"I don't want to kill you; doesn't this seem like a lot of trouble to go to just to kill you?" Stark watches as Ivan heaves his arms back, tearing the straightjacket open.

"Suppose so," the ex-con says as he examines the room. "So, what? You want to maybe torture me? _Заставьте меня заплатить_?" (Make me pay?)

As tempting a thought as 'punishing' Ivan is, and as enjoyable as it is hearing those words in that accent, Tony makes himself shrug and say, "Wasn't on the top of my list, actually."

Whiplash lets the remains of the jacket fall, rolling his shoulders and seeming not to notice how the American's eyes go to his chest. "So why?"

'Because I want to do you' doesn't seem like a viable answer at the moment, and 'I have no idea' won't work either, so he coughs and says, "Jarvis, would you mind?"

"Sir, I would advise against it."

"Quiet, now, Jarvis, Mommy and Daddy are talking." The field disappears and he steps back into the room, watching Vanko tense. "Look... My dad screwed your dad over, right?"

"_Da_." Ivan glares, clearly wondering where this is going.

_Well, here's to world peace_, Tony thinks, and he holds out one hand. "Well, there's something the two of us have in common, okay? We both agree that my dad was a dick. Now I'd like to tell the past to fuck off and live whatever I've got left of my life. You do the same."

That suspicious stare doesn't waver. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that this is an official truce. I bailed you out. You either stay here, in my house, or leave the country, 'cause they'll arrest you again if you leave the premise. So, yeah. You're pretty much free to go home. Just maybe stay away from racetracks." He feels kind of dumb, just standing there with one hand extended in front of the man who just tried to kill him. Again.

"Can't," Vanko says at last, still frowning.

"Can't what?" Tony lowers his hand, quirking an eyebrow. "Can't shake hands, can't stay away from racetracks, can't d-"

"Cannot go home," the larger man snaps.

"Why not?"

Ivan half-grins, gestures at his tattoos. "Been in too much trouble. Three strikes are up."

"Oh." Stark blinks. "So, your choices are prison or... prison. Or some other country, I guess, although I doubt you're gonna be welcomed with open arms anywhere."

The prisoner shrugs. "I prefer American prison. _Amerikanski_ guards are... _как сказать_? Are pussies." The gold-capped grin grows. "Hit like my grandmother. I prefer."

"Or," Tony says, taking a breath and preparing to either run or dodge a punch, "You could just stay here and, y'know, _not_ go to prison."

There's a beat of silence. "_что_?" (What?)

"You heard me. You stay here, in this house. That 'cure' you mentioned; you tell me about that, and if it works I'll call a few contacts and get you back into Russia without any fuss. Or, if you're determined to go to American prison, I'll call a friend at Attica." He smirks. "I'm sure they'd accommodate you."

"Stay here?" Ivan seems to be stuck on that.

"Yeah. For a while, anyway, until I get tired of you or whatever. Y'know, I save your ass, you save mine. No going to jail or death sentence for you, no horrible painful poisoning for me. Like I said, truce."

The wary glare is back, but it seems less sure now. "I don't trust you."

"Well, that makes two of us. I don't trust me either. And I definitely don't trust you, which is why I have Jarvis around. In case you decide to try to murder me in my sleep or anything." Stark gestures vaguely.

Vanko watches him for a moment, considering. "Is life debt. I do not want to owe you life debt. Cannot be paid back."

"What? No, it's not a- even if it was a 'life debt', you'd be paying me back in... y'know... services, I guess." _That came out wrong_. "I mean- uhh, your help with the cure thing you talked about. If it works- there won't be any owing one way or another, right?"

"Maybe."

"Good enough for me." Tony offers his hand again, and after a second's hesitation, the man who is- or was- his nemesis shakes it, still frowning.

"I hate owing," he says.

His new benefactor rolls his eyes once more. "Don't worry about it too much; if you still feel... indebted or whatever after all this- provided I'm still alive- I'm sure I can think of a few ways for you to work it off." Again, his words come out with a different implication than he intended, and he almost winces, hoping Ivan won't catch the accidental admission.

Ivan, however, either understands better English than it seems or is psychic, because without warning he drops to his knees and unbuckles Stark's belt.

"Whoa, what are you doing?" The superhero asks, startled, and his brain sends an automatic response to what he sure _hopes_ Vanko is doing down to his groin as the Russian criminal unzips his pants and pulls them open.

Whiplash shoots him a 'duh, what do you _think_ I'm doing?' look and grabs Tony's briefs, tugging them down. "Working off debt." He reaches up with his left hand and takes hold of the vigilante's member, already embarrassingly attentive, giving it a few good strokes.

Tony groans; he knows this is wrong on about twenty levels of wrongness, but it's been too long and the calloused fingers of the villain feel like heaven and hell combined, and he's stumbling backward with his pants around his knees until he hits the bed, falls back onto it. He tries to come up with a sensible protest, but the only sound he's capable of making at this point is "Oh_fuck_shitholy_crap_!" as hot breath and a hotter tongue make their way up his shaft before Vanko completely engulfs him. "_Fuck_-!"

Ivan drags his head up and down with practiced ease, using his right hand to pin Stark's hips and his left to fondle his sac. He would like to grin at the moaning puddle he's so easily reduced his rival to, but he's a little occupied, so he contents himself with a throaty chuckle. Of course, this only makes Tony gasp and thrust harder into the physicist's mouth, his hands clutching the newly-changed sheets as his eyes slip shut.

"Oh fuck, _fuck_, yes, _shit_ that's good, oh god-" He feels rather than hears another chuckle, forces his eyes open and looks down and _Jesus fuck_, Ivan is _watching_ him, staring up at him, into him, the dark intensity of those rain-cloud eyes burning into him from under strands of stray storm-colored hair, and it's too much because he's already at the edge, and before he realizes it he's shouting Vanko's name and coming hard, so hard that his vision fades for a few moments as he gasps for breath. He feels Ivan swallow around him, and if he hadn't just come only seconds ago that sensation alone would be enough to get him hard again. As it is, all he can do is lie there and pant as the Russian pulls away and wipes his mouth, standing.

He knows he should probably pass off what just happened with some sort of snide comment, something about what Russian prisons must be like or daily down-payments, but at the moment all he wants to do is kiss the man who claims to be his enemy. Probably not a great idea, he decides, and opts instead to tuck himself back into his pants, zip them shut, and sit up.

"Well," he says, running a hand through his hair and feeling like maybe he's on candid camera or drugs or something. "That was... Uhh. Well. 'Working off debt', huh?"

"_Da_."

"Okay. I can definitely live with that." He's tempted to ask just how many times a week/day/couple of hours he can expect to have to live with that, but he pushes the impulse down. "So, um. Are you. Are you hungry? Thirsty, whatever?"

"No."

Wishing for more than monosyllabic responses, but unsure of what to say to get more (because as brilliant at romance as he is, Tony Stark very rarely has to try to _seduce_ anyone- usually he just smiles and whoever-it-is is suddenly naked; he has little-to-no idea how to go about debauching a giant evil Russian ex-con), he stands and casts a glance down at the prison-issue trousers that Vanko is wearing. They're almost identical to the ones he was wearing at the racetrack- baggy and orange and too loose to tell if he got anything out of what he just did.

"Alright. Well, I'm gonna go... do stuff. You know." Tony clears his throat and looks around. "There's some clothes on the dresser that will hopefully fit you, and there's a toothbrush in the bathroom, if you know how to use one, and if you do get hungry... um, tell Jarvis. He'll hear you."

"Fine." Ivan is examining the view from the reinforced, shatterproof window, squinting a little.

"That reminds me..." Stark pulls the small, oblong box from his pocket. "I also grabbed these. I dunno if they're your prescription, but I figured they'd be better than nothing." He offers the case.

Vanko's brows furrow and he reaches for it warily. He opens the lid, lifts the glasses carefully, and places them on the bridge of his nose, blinking. He seems unsure of what to say for a few seconds, but he manages a "_Спасибо_," (thank you) and meets Tony's gaze for a brief moment before turning away.

The wealthy American takes this as his cue and turns to go, intensely pleased that he bought those glasses (because they look really weirdly attractive on the villain- maybe it's the juxtaposition, the way Ivan's thuggish, abrasive demeanor hides the fact that he's a genius that built an arc reactor out of scrap metal in a Russian basement). Striding down the hallway, he wonders vaguely if his new 'houseguest' has any diseases. He compares the possibility of catching something with the possibility of never getting a blowjob from Ivan again, and decides he'll take his chances.

~::~

About five hours later, Jarvis informs Tony that after making a detailed examination of every inch of the room, reading about half of the books on the billionaire's shelf, dissembling and reassembling the toilet and sink, and changing into a pair of the boxers, Ivan has gone to bed. Tony, who is elbow-deep in axle grease and motor oil (he's been attempting to distract himself by working on his cars- it hasn't been helping much), heads for the shower in the guest room, debating whether or not to do what he's already pretty damn sure he's gonna do.

He pulls on a pair of briefs, which he hopes will be a moot point, and walks as quietly as possible down the hall. He's not sure if he should knock or just go in; he ends up opening the door and trying to knock at the same time, so his fist is striking the air pointlessly. He lowers his hand, staring into the dark and attempting to determine if the shadowed figure on the bed is asleep or not. Remembering that Ivan is pretty convincing one way or another, he shuts the door and approaches.

He crawls onto the mattress, careful not to accidentally step on the larger man, and hovers indecisively for a moment, waiting to see what Vanko's reaction will be. When there's no sudden stabbing or strangleholds, he shifts a little, relaxing slightly. _Is he actually asleep_? He's thinking about just getting off the bed and going back to the guest room when the prone figure under him grunts a single word.

"_что?" _(What?)

Tony grins. "I'm kind of surprised you let me get this close without shanking me or something. You really let your guard down, huh? Or maybe I'm just a ninja." He knows it's a bad idea, but he can't help but gloat a little.

"Oh?"

And Stark feels a sudden sharpness against his ribs. He looks down and sees the sharp, jagged shiv that was the toothbrush he bought for his guest. "Oh."

Ivan laughs, clearly pleased with himself for his little trick, and pulls the weapon away, stowing it under his pillow. "What do you want?" He rubs his eyes with a fist, his voice raspier than usual, and for a second- just a second- Tony wonders just what kind of sedative the guards used, and how much of it. The concern is soon overwhelmed by his original intentions, and he shifts again, his knees on either side of Vanko's legs.

The Russian sits up a little, his face suddenly illuminated by the glow of Stark's reactor. He blinks groggily, shoots a glare up at the hero, then heaves a sigh and grudgingly lays back down. "_Разрешение_," (go ahead) he mutters, kicking the sheets away.

Tony's libido is immediately at the ready, and he doesn't waste any time. Feeling like a kid at Christmas, he runs his hands down Ivan's torso, wishing the lights were on so he could examine all those tattoos. _Oh well_, he thinks as his fingers curve over the hard planes of Ivan's muscles, _I've got time. Tomorrow, the day after, or whenever_. He lets his fingertips curl as he slides his palms down further, drags them over Whiplash's groin. At the same time, he dips his head and nips at the sharp jut of a hipbone, enjoying the way the muscle rolls under the skin as Vanko squirms.

The criminal genius growls, seemingly annoyed by the playboy's efforts. "_Продолжите это,"_ (get on with it) he snaps.

But Tony is determined to take at least a little time and care, to explore the body he's apparently been given an all-access pass to, and he tilts his head to ghost the heat of his breath through the thin boxers. He feels the skin under his palms shudder, and he smirks and sucks at the growing hardness through the fabric. There's an immediate string of Russian curses from somewhere above him, and he gives another hard suck before pulling his head away and taking hold of the hem. He pulls the boxers down slowly, pausing every so often to taste or bite, and then works his way back up to Ivan's arousal. By the light of the arc reactor, he can see that there's a pair of eyes tattooed on either side of Vanko's groin. He chuckles quietly and decides he'll have to ask about that tomorrow. He licks a teasing stripe up the shaft and is about to take it into his mouth when Whiplash snarls again, yanking on his hair.

"Okay, okay," Tony huffs, a little confused- because who passes up a blowjob?- and more than a little offended- because who passes up a blowjob from _Tony_ _Stark_? He takes a quick moment to crawl up the ex-con's body, trailing quick nips and swatting Ivan's hands away when he tries to push the American's mouth away again, licking a nipple and sucking a collarbone before detaching and sitting back, reaching for the nightstand.

Vanko watches with an unreadable expression as Iron Man digs through the drawer and comes up with a bottle of self-heating lubrication. Tony pours some out, coats himself with it, hissing as the gel warms. He starts to squirt some more onto his fingers, but before he can do anything with them Ivan gives an exasperated growl and grabs his rival's shoulders, flipping them so that Stark is flat on his back, the Russian looming above him. The smaller man feels a slight thrill of fear go up his spine, revels in it- he can't remember the last time he felt real fear like that- and curves his spine, rolling his pelvis up against the villain's. Vanko grips the American's briefs, yanks them down and lets him kick them away before swinging a leg over to straddle his hips. Tony starts to sit up, to ask if that's such a good idea, but before he can voice his concerns Whiplash drops himself onto the hero's cock in one swift move.

"_Oh_-!" Tony falls back against the pillows, his neck arching, his eyes rolling back as he scrabbles desperately for anything he can find purchase on. It's too hot, too tight, too _absofuckinglutely_, die-and-go-to-heaven, verge-of-cumming-just-from-entering perfect. He's helpless for a few moments, can only lie there and try to let his brain catch up, and Ivan, in spite of the look of intense discomfort on his face, takes over and sets a bruising, pounding rhythm, grinding and lifting and lowering and thrusting. Stark gasps, groans, engages the ex-con, rutting up into him and grabbing at his thighs to get a better angle, feeling a jolt of dizzy euphoria as he strikes something that makes Vanko curse and throw his head back, hair whipping through the air. The playboy raises himself, takes hold of Ivan's hips and forces him to slow his movements, controlling their thrusts so that every motion has Ivan's legs tensing, his fingers curling, his teeth gritting as he holds back a moan. Tony grunts in time with the rocking of their bodies, bites his lip and lets the discordant tempo of raw arousal overtake him. He's only minimally aware of the sounds that are pouring out of his mouth as the Russian rides him with brutal, unflinching fervor. He's pretty sure it's something along the lines of "Oh my god- yess- fuck, god, that's perfect, mm, fuck!"

Vanko responds by spitting out a string of furious Russian and increasing his movements, making Tony's hands tighten harshly on his hips. The American crawls his fingers across Ivan's stomach and wraps them around him, stroking and pulling, stroking and pulling, watching him struggle with wanting to shove the hand away and needing for it to continue. Stark rubs a little more firmly, thrusts against that spot again, and feels the body above him jerk, the muscles around him clench as a hot spatter hits his chest. It's enough, more than enough, to send him flying over the edge, pumping up into Vanko as climax rocks through them. Whiplash remains suspended for a moment, back arched, eyes closed and mouth open in what might be pleasure-induced abandon. He's fucking gorgeous.

It's in this exact moment that Tony starts to realize just how much trouble he's gotten himself into.

Ivan quickly snaps himself out of his daze and replaces the look of ecstasy with his usual scowl as he grunts and pulls himself up and off of the playboy. He thuds onto the mattress on his side, facing away from Stark. Tony lays there, listening to the cadence of both of their breathing as it slows. Once his heart stops hammering, he rolls over and gets reluctantly to his feet, meanders over to the bathroom, and grabs a hand towel. He hauls himself back onto the bed, wiping carefully around the arc reactor, and takes cautious hold of Ivan's shoulder, turning him. He's met with a tired glare from under tangled hair, and he thinks twice about his plan to clean the Russian himself; he hands the towel over wordlessly and collapses onto his back, feeling satiated. There's another long silence as Vanko wipes himself and chucks the cloth in the general direction of the bathroom before heaving a sigh and stilling. He's quiet a while, seemingly in thought.

"Ey. Tony."

"You sound Italian when you say my name like that," Tony smiles, knowing Vanko can't see it. "Wha's a matter?"

"You don't really think I can cure you."

More silence.

"...I guess not. Not really."

"So why you brought me here?"

"Aside from the obvious?" Tony asks half-jokingly. Really, he still has no answer for the question. "Maybe just to piss Hammer off. 'Parently he had some epically complex plan to bust you out and he was _not_ pleased when I snatched you." He grins again.

Ivan is quiet again, though it's hard to say if he's deep in thought or asleep or wondering who Hammer is.

Frustrated at his lack of answer, Tony squirms his way under the blankets. Vanko shifts.

"What are you doing?" he asks suspiciously.

"I dun feel like getting up and going back to th' guest room," the American mutters. "Deal with it; 'smy bed anyway."

After about two hours of tense, stiff-limbed resistance, Ivan seems to realize that Tony is not going to shoot him in his sleep. Slowly, very slowly, his arms and legs relax as he gives in to exhaustion. Behind him, barely conscious, Stark lets a smirk play across his lips before he, too, succumbs to the slumber caused by very thorough sexing.

~::~

Tony groans and rolls over, damning Jarvis for opening the blinds and letting in the horrible, horrible curse of sunlight. He's wondering several things, mainly why he doesn't have a hangover but can't remember what he did last night, and is about to yell for the A.I. to close the damn blinds when someone shifts next to him on the bed. He quickly scrolls through his list of possible suspects, starting with the waitress of that new fancy restaurant and ending with the cute EMT he met at the racetrack. Wait. The racetrack, when Vanko...

Vanko...

_Oh, right_. He hoists himself up onto his elbows and turns to look at the still-sleeping man beside him. Ivan is sprawled on his back, his head tilted away, his hands balled into fists against his torso. For a little while, Tony watches the steady rise and fall of his chest, half-smiling at the deep scowl lines between the Russian's eyebrows and the way his right hand twitches like he's writing or punching someone in his sleep. He doesn't feel like imagining who that someone might be.

Inching closer, the American takes the opportunity to sneak a better look at the tattoos that adorn about fifty percent of Ivan's skin. Most of his stomach is covered by a ship and writing that Tony is too lazy to try and translate. Numbers, crosses, and stars embellish his knuckles, as well as what looks like an eagle on the shoulder facing Stark. There are scars as well as tattoos, vicious-looking claw marks and cuts and burns that, Tony is sure, have interesting backstories.

The hero reaches out a careful hand and tugs the sheet down to get a better look at the eyes he noticed last night. There's a candle next to each eye, the flames marking the slight jut of hipbone, and without thinking, Tony runs a finger over one candle, down to the sleeping man's groin.

There's a shift in Vanko's breathing, and Stark glances up to see one groggy eye glaring down at him.

"_что_-" the physicist begins grumpily, and rather than respond in words, Tony chooses to grasp his member and give one long, firm stroke, making his intentions clear. The villain growls, still apparently averse to letting his rival touch him there, and reaches down to pull him away.

But Stark is ready for this; he catches hold of the Russian's wrist with his free hand and, before Vanko can protest further, wraps his mouth around one finger. The reaction is immediate; Ivan makes a raspy sound in the back of his throat and his head falls back against the pillows, and Tony feels the member in his hand stiffen. _So he's sensitive in his hands_, the billionaire thinks. _I can _definitely _use this to my advantage_. He drags his tongue up the digit, stroking with his other hand, and is rewarded with a muffled moan, Ivan's hips lifting slightly off the bed. Tony pulls his mouth off and licks a stripe up the palm, nips at the skin between Vanko's thumb and forefinger, never ceasing his rubbing and stroking.

"Sir..." It's Jarvis, interrupting at the least convenient moment as always.

"Not now, Jarvis," Tony says, sucking at the pulse point of Whiplash's wrist.

"Sir, you should know that-"

"Little busy, Jarvis. Unless it's a nuclear war I don't wanna know."

The A.I. goes quiet, and for a few moments there's nothing but the occasional groan or gasp that makes its way past Ivan's clenched jaws.

Then there's the unexpected sound of the door opening.

"Oh my god!" The door slams shut just as Tony spins around to see the flash of red hair that means Pepper just walked in on them.

Ivan sits up, quirking an eyebrow at Stark, who groans in defeat and rolls off the bed, staggering over to the door.

"Pepper? You out there?"

"...Yes."

"Okay. Presumably, you just saw a guy's junk. For that, I apologize." He pulls a pair of pajama bottoms on and, after glancing back to see that Vanko has rolled over and yanked the blankets back up over his head, opens the door. "Hi, Pepper."

Pepper's standing across the hallway, arms crossed, mouth a thin line of disapproval.

"So, uh..." He coughs, tries to offer his best 'I'm so charming that you'll forget what you just saw' smile, which is immediately deflected. "Um. Coffee? You want some coffee? I want some coffee; I'm gonna get some coffee." He turns toward the kitchen, carefully shutting the door. After a moment or two of judgmental staring, Pepper follows.

Within minutes, Tony is standing in the living room, holding a mug of hot, fresh coffee and seemingly unable to wipe the satisfied grin from his face. His former assistant is still looking at him like he's completely nuts, a mug in her hands as well as she watches him bounce on the balls of his feet.

"So," she says after a moment, "I'd heard that you were acting weird yesterday after talking to Vanko, but obviously things must have gone well if you're so chipper. Who was that, just out of curiosity?"

He gives a slightly nervous laugh. "Y'know, it's funny you put it like that..."

At this exact moment, Ivan chooses to come wandering into the kitchen behind them. _At least_, Tony thinks, watching with rapt fascination as the Russian bends over to grab a carton of orange juice from the fridge, _he had the decorum to put on some boxers_.

All three of them are silent as Vanko pops the top of the carton and chugs half of it, stows it in the refrigerator once more, opens cabinets until he finds a bottle of vodka, grabs it, half-turns, and notices them staring at him.

It's one of those moments that filmmakers and Craig Ferguson call "an awkward pause". Pepper raises her mug slowly and takes a sip, her expression one of polite bemusement. Vanko nods at them once, tucks the bottle under his arm, and heads back toward the bedroom.

Another few moments of silence, Tony craning slightly to get a better view of Ivan's ass as he departs, Pepper carefully examining the ceiling. The sound of the door closing breaks the spell and she tilts her head, asks in a very neutral tone:

"Is that-?"

"Yep."

"But isn't he-"

"Not anymore."

"But didn't he try to-"

"Yeah."

"So why was he wandering around your kitchen?"

"Well, he's kind of dehydrated."

"Why is he- oh, god, I don't want to know, do I?"

"Probably not."

"You seriously sprung a psychopathic Russian convict _who tried to kill you_ from prison just so you could have sex with him?"

"I dunno if I'd say psychopathic," Tony says defensively. "He's... volatile."

"Tony."

"Okay, yes, that's pretty much what I did."

She rolls her eyes, looking like she's counting to ten or scrolling through her list of Scorn Options. After a few moments she sighs and shakes her head. "Okay. Well, I came by to check on you, and now I'm gonna get back to work." She sets her mug down and turns toward the hallway.

Stark is thrown for a loop. "Wait. What?"

"I said I'm going back to work."

Tony follows her down the hall, glancing into the bedroom quickly to see Ivan swigging vodka and reading one of the American's comic books, wearing his glasses and a puzzled expression.

"Seriously?" Iron Man asks his former employee, raising an eyebrow. "That's it? Where's the angry rant about irresponsibility? Where's the Pepper Judgment?"

She turns to face him, hands on her hips. "Tony. When's the last time you were _this_ happy after sex with someone?"

"I..." It's a good point. He can't remember the last time he was so wired and cheerful.

She nods, satisfied that her point is proven. "If this is what you need, and you're sure he's not going to kill you, then go ahead and screw his brains out."

"You really think I'm that shallow? I'm offended, Pepper."

"Wounded, even?"

"_Hurt_, Pepper," he insists, but he's grinning again in spite of himself.

She returns his smile, pats him on the shoulder, and leaves.

Tony wanders back to the kitchen and finishes his coffee, then heads to the bedroom and proceeds to pick up where he left off. Ivan bitches about not being able to finish the comic book, but his complaints are quickly silenced, and afterward Tony makes a mental note to buy more vodka.


End file.
